Chapter 30: Eight Months Later

I step out into the late afternoon sunshine, breathing deeply in and feeling the cool air of springtime fill my nostrils. Not even after I came home from my own Games did I ever think it could feel this good to be alive.

"Danny? I'm going for a walk, baby! I won't be long!" Blowing my husband a kiss, I almost skip down the stoop of our mansion, and head towards the entrance of the Village. Passing by an open window, the smell of cheese buns replaces the cool air and I inhale, sighing again. Turning, I wave to my youngest son; smiling, he cheerily waves back.

It seemed a little redundant to place Peeta in his own mansion, when he has been living with Danny and me in our mansion since the day he was born. The moment we stepped off the train, Danny had grabbed our son and sobbed openly into his shoulder. Then I was in his arms, and he was kissing me rather indecently, and I was kissing him back, to wolf-whistles and cheers. Though my drooped lashes, I had seen Katniss and Peeta watching the display with shocked amusement. I can't recall a time in our marriage when Danny and I have ever been less discreet, but I was too happy to care. Bringing a Victor – two of them! - home alive from the Hunger Games was something to celebrate, and did Dannel and I ever celebrate. I've never had such wonderful sex in my whole life; we made love to each other all that first night the kids were back.

The Peacekeepers had set to work almost immediately. Moving Peeta was simply a matter of taking all his stuff in his bedroom and then transferring it over to the mansion directly across the street from ours. The Everdeens' were harder; everything they owned was put into a wagon and carted up the hill to the mansion right next door to Peeta's. The imagery is striking – seeing my son and my goddaughter come out onto their adjacent front stoops, smile at each other and kiss. Through the Everdeens' open window, I see Belle doing laundry and actually humming to herself, looking the healthiest and happiest she has been in years. I wave to my best friend, but she doesn't see me – no matter.

I head down the hill, stroll through the Seam and cross into Town. As I near the schoolyard, I hear bells ringing; classes must be letting out. Upon returning home from the Games, now richer than many Merchants, Katniss and Peeta decided not to finish their education. They've been too busy slowly exploring their new romantic relationship, kissing and cuddling and touching. On some nights, I've thought that I've heard moaning coming from Katniss's bedroom window, indicating she and my son are secretly making love. The occasional hickey I've seen blooming on my goddaughter's neck has softly confirmed this. I am uncertain as to how I feel about it, but I eventually decide that as long as they are careful and use protection, they're fine. Dannel has been more than amused by my son and our goddaughter's blossoming romance, at one point asking me, "Were we ever like that, when we were their age?"

"First of all, we weren't even together at their age," I quip. "Second of all, no – we were worse." From the looks I've seen from her whenever she has walked in on Katniss and Peeta kissing, I can tell Belle doesn't approve of her eldest being so romantically involved so young. It might be a little hypocritical of her, but she doesn't openly voice whatever objections she might have.

I am entering the schoolyard now, in time to see kids streaming out of the building. Through the sea of faces, I spy my goddaughter, perched on the marble base of the fifteen-foot high statue of herself that now looms over the schoolyard. Her likeness has an arrow in the notch, poised to shoot, her snarl fierce. The statue to her left shows my youngest son in a defensive crouch, knife in hand, his other palm clenched into a fist.

I was pleased when both the statues were revealed at the unveiling last fall. Both of my charges look a damn sight nicer cut from stone than I do.

Ahead of me, I now see a group of boys laughing and congregating around Katniss on her statue – she must be waiting to walk Primrose home from school. I recognize one of the boys as Thom Borden, son of the new district mining foreman.

"There she is! The beauty of Twelve, Katniss Everdeen!"

"How's about a kiss, Miss Everdeen?" Thom entices.

Katniss squirms a little at the praise, flushing and stammering. "No… no, thank you. I'm waiting for my sister."

"Be a sport, just one kiss? You dish 'em out to Mellark often enough."

Frowning in bemusement, I stride forward. The laughter of the boys' ceases when they see me coming, and they clear out.

Katniss smiles at me weakly, grateful. "Thanks, Auntie Maysilee."

"No problem," I grin. Primrose comes pelting into her sister's arms two minutes later; swinging her around happily, I walk the Everdeen girls home.

Primrose skips ahead of us, leaving me and my goddaughter to trail behind. "I don't understand…. Why are all these boys flirting with me? They never did before. And anyway, they know I'm with Peeta."

I smile softly. "Maybe some of them have just noticed you, now that you're a Victor."

Katniss scowls adorably. "I don't want to be noticed." She breathes deeply and tilts her chin high, resolute. "The only person I want is Peeta."

"You must have had crushes on other boys before my son, though," I can't resist teasing. "Like, oh…. the Hawthorne boy!"

"Gale?" Katniss wrinkles her nose. "I hardly know him. We're only acquaintances because our daddies died in the same mine collapse." A brief pause, and then her lips upturn into a smirk. "Prim has a crush on his little brother, though. Rory. She won't admit it, but I know."

We're hiking up the hill now; Primrose has gone so far ahead, she's already disappeared through the gate.

Katniss lets me off at my mansion. "Thanks for the walk, Auntie! Bye!"

"Bye, sweetie," I beam, stepping into my foyer. I cross to the kitchen for a glass of water, stealing a drive-by kiss from my husband where he is working at the stove. It's a lazy Sunday, so the bakery is closed, but that doesn't mean we Mellarks ever stop baking.

I take a seat at the kitchen table, reaching for the remote that Rye decided not to leave in its proper place in the living room again, and turn on the TV from there. Caesar is on the screen, bubbling about next summer's Games.

"Yes, this year will be the 3rd Quarter Quell, and all eyes will be on District 12, of all places – their own Maysilee Donner won the Crown twenty-five years ago, and of course, last year… the greatest love story of our time. For the last eight months, we have exulted in their happiness… though we are also quite upset that the President has refused to let us marry Katniss and Peeta the way they deserve to be!" Caesar actually wipes a tear from his eye.

That decision, last fall, was actually a little odd, even for President Snow. Still in a tizzy over the Star-Crossed Lovers, Caesar and half the Capitol had wanted to throw my kids a lavish wedding. Guest lists were drawn up, and Cinna had even been commissioned to mock up a few wedding gown designs for the bride (it would have been a boon for his career), until Snow intervened, issuing a press release stating that Katniss and Peeta would not be married until they came "of age." Peeta hadn't seemed bothered by it; Katniss was openly relieved. My son and my goddaughter apparently talked about it and both agreed they aren't ready to get married. They just want to date, for now.

Caesar has now moved on to the next exciting bit of gossip: "I am receiving reports that the Reading of the Card to announce the Quell twist might even be handed down tonight! What will the twist be, folks? We're dying to know."

I knock back my water, wishing it is something stronger, like bourbon. I don't drink (the last time I imbibed was the champagne at Danny's and my wedding), but the temptation to do so now is greater than it's ever been. When I was sixteen, the Reading of the Card was announced in early March. I am already dreading the added attention that will befall me, and only me – the news of Cora Shutter's passing around the time of the Winter Festival shocked the nation. Snow had ordered flags lowered to half-staff; and a state funeral was held for the Victor of the First Quarter Quell in front of the District 8 Justice Building.

I also fear for my son and goddaughter. A Quarter Quell is a hell of a time to be a first-year mentor. The Games this year will be bloodier, more awful, darker…. I hope Peeta and Katniss, especially Katniss, will be able to withstand the trauma.

Over the background noise of the TV coverage, I don't hear my front door opening, and only clue in that someone has arrived when I hear Danny call, "Katniss, what a surprise!"

I glance up to see my goddaughter walking into the room like she's a cadaver, her face ghastly pale. I rise quickly.

"What happened, honey? You look like you've seen…"

"… Lucy Gray Baird's ghost?" she cracks without any humor in her voice. "Not quite. It's worse."

A flicker of the curtains at the window catches my eye just then, and through the panes, I think I see someone leaving the Village. I only get a glimpse, but it appears to be a man with a snow-white beard.

"Snow was here." Katniss's voice is weak and small.

I wheel back to her, shocked. "What? Here? Why?" Stepping forward, I guide her into a chair and give her a little shake. "What did he say? Did he see Peeta?"

My goddaughter shakes her head. "No. I got into my house and Mother and Prim were there, acting funny. Then a Peacekeeper directs me into my mom's office. Snow was there, drinking our tea and eating cookies…"

I think back to my own encounter with the President, when I was just about her age. Goddamnit…. It's happening. He doesn't even care that she has a boyfriend…

"Did he threaten you? Said he would hurt people if you refused to whore yourself out to his backers?"

Katniss's face scrunches up in a mixture of confusion and disgust. "Auntie, what are you talking about?"

I freeze, thrown that my hypothesis has been debunked. A chill comes over my skin, even worse than before. "What are you talking about?" I riddle back.

Katniss's eyes flit down into her lap. "He said our Victory Tour was atrocious. He…. He said there have been uprisings in the districts."

I stagger back, eyes bulging. So that's what this is. Suddenly, multiple puzzle pieces I didn't know fit together fall into place. Why Chaff has been unusually quiet and not sent any secret communiqués, usually smuggled in the lining of the care packages of District 11 foodstuffs we get in our mail from time to time. He probably hasn't sent anything, because I imagine food production has been disrupted and that District 11 is almost certainly in open revolt right now.

I think back to Katniss and Peeta's Victory Tour, which I have to admit was a little stressful, but far from the disaster Snow is painting it as. The crowds in District 11 were roiling and grieving, mostly for the loss of Rue. When Katniss had appeared, many had cheered for her, with one man even making the three-finger gesture only seen in Twelve. We were hustled off the stage hurriedly after that; the kids didn't even have the chance to give their speech.

Things progressed more smoothly as we had continued on. District 8 had been a bit rowdy, drowning Katniss out as she had attempted to give her rote speech. I can still hear the jeering.

"Fake news!"

"Booo!"

"Tell us what you really think!"

The Career districts brought back the tension. In District 2, Brutus Barsetti failed to appear, even though he had mentored the silver medalist tribute. A messenger had come and conveyed to me that Mr. Barsetti would not be in attendance, which had struck me as odd – Victory Tours require a compulsory attendance record, same as the Reaping. District 1 was probably the least hospitable of them all – a riot practically ensued on account of Katniss killing both their tributes. By the time we had reached the Capitol, we were ready to be done and had come home exhausted but relieved that it was over.

"There's something else…" Katniss's voice brings me back to earth. Her bottom lip is trembling; she's scared out of her mind. "Auntie, Snow doesn't believe I'm really in love with Peeta. He said the berries were an act of rebellion."

A lightbulb goes off in my brain. Now I understand why Snow wouldn't want Peeta and Katniss to have a wedding. He wants to manipulate the districts into believing that the stunt with the berries was not an act of love, but an act of rebellion. At first blush, that might seem a little counter-intuitive – Snow clearly isn't happy about the uprisings, surely he wouldn't be spoiling for a fight… until you consider that if Snow paints the berries moment as rebellion, and not as love, then Katniss will be branded a rebel. And hopefully, then, enough good people in the Capitol and those still loyal in the districts would rise up to turn against Katniss and label her a traitor. Snow is hoping there are more loyalists than there are rebels.

The logic is a little dizzying, and filled with risky bets, but Snow must be pretty confident enough to be making this play. I extrapolate the possibilities out even further: Snow doesn't want a revolution. He wants a civil war. He wants to take the anger people are feeling in the districts and manipulate them against each other. Things get bad enough, and the Capitol can finally swoop in and stamp all the fighting out, and looking like they're the peacemakers while doing it. They might even make that the purpose of the Quell, only in four months' time

Katniss is sniffling, feeling a weight on her shoulders that no almost seventeen-year-old girl should ever have to feel. Taking her hands in mine, I kneel down before her, stroking my thumb over her knuckles.

"It's OK, sweetie…. I know you love Peeta… we will figure this out…"

My front door bangs open again, and Primrose scampers in, Peeta hot on her heels.

"Mandatory programming tonight!" she hollers. "Caesar Flickerman thinks it's going to be the announcement of the Quell twist!"

Even though it's nothing to celebrate, for the sake of my godchild's emotional health, I decide to pretend that it is. I smile down at her. "See? We can all bring snacks over to Peeta's place and have a party." I notice my son cock an eyebrow, but I silence him with a look. Watching the announcement of the twist is going to be hard enough for everyone. Belle would be the first one to admit that she is a terrible hostess, and my place isn't nearly clean enough. Knowing how fastidious my son is, and figuring that his place will be more neutral territory, devoid of painful memories, I decide we should hold the gathering there.

When evening falls, I head over to Peeta's place and meet the Everdeens there. My husband begs off, saying that he'll watch the coverage from our house while resting his back after baking all day.

As the anthem begins to play, Belle, the girls, Peeta and I all gather on the couch with snacks and drinks. Snow is shown mounting a podium and announcing the 75th year of the Hunger Games, and how the Quarter Quell was designed to stamp out rebellion in the districts. This recitation could not be timelier, as I suspect several districts are rebelling right now.

The President then recites the past Quarter Quell iterations: "On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder to the districts that it was their choice to initiate violence, each district was made to hold a special election, and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

Danny, Kaydilyn, Belle and I often heard stories from our parents about what it was like. Picking the kids who had to go. Polling booths were apparently set up in the district square. The voting was said to be by secret ballot, although many people talked openly about whom they voted for.

"On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the districts were required to send twice as many tributes."

I can feel everyone's eyes on me: awe in Primrose's, pride in Peeta's, deep respect in Katniss's. Belle bows her head, obviously not wanting to dwell on the memories, although it turned out all right in the end.

"And now we honor our Third Quarter Quell." A pageboy steps forward with an ornate, wooden box, and the President opens it to reveal rows upon rows of envelopes. He selects the one marked with a 75 and opens the seal. Procuring the card, he reads: "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be Reaped from each district's existing pool of Victors."

I can't hear anything. My head is swimming, and only certain sounds are managing to cut into this dull nothingness that has overtaken me. Belle is wailing; Peeta is sobbing. Katniss is as frozen as me, though her breasts are heaving as air comes to her in rough gasps; she seems to be hyperventilating. I recall how I lost all hearing, lost almost all sense, when Dolly Evana called my name oh so long ago. That feeling has now returned with a vengeance.

And then, just like that, the sound comes roaring back, my hearing restored, so that I can detect everyone talking and screaming at once.

The sharp BRIIING! of the landline telephone quiets us. Slowly, I rise, ignoring how everyone is looking to me.

"I'll get it." My voice seems detached as I nearly float over to the receiver and take it off the hook.

"Hello?"

There is a brief silence, broken only by heavy breathing, on the other end, before a deep voice rumbles: "I'm coming for you, you cheating little shit."

I frown. "Who is this?" I demand, my voice coming back so that it's sharper.

Another pause, as the person on the other end seems to realize that it is a woman who has answered, and not my son.

"Your boy's got a one-way ticket back into the arena, you bitch. And I'm gonna volunteer. I'm coming for his cheating ass. I will hunt for him. I will find him. And I will kill him. So strap in, Donner. Get ready to take the ride, little darling."

There is only one person in all of Panem who has ever called me 'little darling.' My blood runs cold.

"Brutus?"

CLICK. The line goes dead. I stagger away from the phone so that it dangles from the receiver, the blood pounding in my ears. For it's just now I realize: District 12 has had four Victors, but now only has three to choose from. Two female…. One male….. the first-ever male Victor from Twelve.

My son is going back into the arena.